


With A Whimper

by Balletvamp



Category: Supernatural, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, loki/loki - Freeform, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balletvamp/pseuds/Balletvamp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”I want to propose a mutually beneficial…arrangement.” Gabriel and Loki make a deal, to save them both from uncertain future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

The archangel, Gabriel, had appeared in glorious holy ecstasy, six golden wings unfurled and shining behind him, heavenly light spilling from his eyes, divinity nearly overwhelming his recently acquired human vessel.

He has found the one he seeks, in a small town in the midst of Sweden. The religion of the pagan gods still holds heavy influence here and the angel had been watching this area of Earth during the uproarious festival days for years, waiting for his chance. Now it had come, during one of the spring festivals when the people of the nearby villages were celebrating the blossoming of new life and giving thanks to the gods for continued health. There was feasting and coupling and the angel wasn’t surprised that the one he searched for would end up here, in a handsome cabin, abed with a mortal woman, her husband no doubt drinking his fill in the village with the other revelers.   
Loki, trickster and liesmith, the outsider of the northern pagan pantheon, merely blinks once, slowly, dark lashes fluttering, visage entirely unimpressed. He sees the true form of the archangel, overlying the vessel, and it inspires neither shock nor awe. He let the human woman continue her vigorous bouncing atop him for another few moments, her mewling and panting increasing in pace, dewy skin moist with sweat and marred in places by vicious looking scratches, no doubt won in the excitement of her lover. 

Then the dark haired deity plucked her from him with as much concern as if he were brushing aside an overly friendly dog. When she raised a complaint, cheeks flushed and legs tangling, Loki backhanded her off the bed, where she struck the nearby wall, head hitting with a crack that made Gabriel frown, and slumped to the dirt floor, silenced. A cursory and swift exploration on the angel’s part determined she was merely knocked unconscious and not perished as he’d feared. 

“One of the winged sheep serving the would be supreme being? Ehyeh asher ehyeh, he called himself, wasn’t it? To think they accuse ME of vanity. Your father, as it were, would find good company in Thor, I’d imagine. They could delight in their pompous superiority together, not to mention their anger management issues. Though, I fear Thor would find your God rather dull and lacking in mirth. How dreadful, to be an all powerful being and deny yourself all the finer pleasures.” Loki managed to make the last sound like a purr and he was watching Gabriel with a mixture of derision and a kind of predatory hunger, rising languidly from the bed.

Ignoring his own misgivings about the turn of the situation, the archangel gathered himself to reply.

“I’ve not come to bandy insults with you, Loki of Asgard,” he was trying his best to be serious and official, something his brothers had commonly chastised him for failing at. The next part wounded his pride, but he ruffled his wings and rallied his nerve, “I wish to…advance a…partnership of sorts.”

Gabriel suspected it wasn’t often Loki was taken by surprise, but judging by the other’s incredulous expression, he certainly was now. The expression quickly melted into a scrutinizing gaze.

“You come to me, for help? To me?” his laughter was knife sharp, carving into the Gabriel’s resolve and surety of this being the best idea, “One of heaven’s holier-than-thou bootlickers would humble himself to beg my aid? Oh this IS rich! What makes you think I won’t just cut you down where you stand, for even daring?”

WIth that, the trickster disappears from his sight, suddenly and obviously with the aid of magic. The holy messenger tenses, wings set aflutter with anticipation, waiting for the other’s reappearance, wondering if the creature truly has the power to end an angel. The tiny cabin is silent and Gabriel watches dust cavort in the bright sunshine filtering through cracks in the wooden beams.

“I’ve heard you spare little love for your family, ” He addresses the air. In Heaven, the Choir speaks scornfully of the pagans and their depraved ways. Gabriel had begun to take notice of the talk when Michael and Lucifer began to fight and long enduring prophecies were set into motion. Armies rose and the archangel made a decision. To avoid a terrible choice, he fled.

“And that you hold for your own kin is too great,” the silky voice replies, a cold breath against his throat, and Gabriel shivers, hiding his surprise at Loki’s sudden reappearance at his shoulder.

“I’m called Father of Lies and yet you believe me to be unable to see the truth in things? How would I wield my craft if I did not?” The angel could hear the smirk, though he couldn’t see the other’s lips curl up, not with the dark god hovering behind him. It was an effort not to reach for his blade and turn on the other, to humble what he considered a glorified demon with divine judgement. Loki chuckled as he came round and Gabriel wondered if the trickster knew his thoughts.

“Your kind, despite being the sanctimonious lot of winged curs you are, grow in power. I make it my business to know my enemies as well as my friends.”

“Have many of those do you?” Gabriel tires of Loki’s impudence, it galls him when he’s already shamed to come here seeking aid, and he cuts in to give as good as he receives, “Friends, I mean? As I understand it, you’re sorely lacking, unless one counts beasts.”

Dark thin brows narrow and the messenger of God watches those bright green eyes go cold, frozen jewels in a strikingly beautiful pale face, full of malice and hatred. Has this creature ever known love, Gabriel wonders, the thought fleeting in the quickening promise of violence. 

“What would a simpering servant of Heaven, a mere thrall to a being who created you for sole purpose of singing his praises and obeying his whims, know of friendship?” The scorn is pouring off Loki, smile sharp and voice jeering, and he circles Gabriel like a predator it’s prey, “Your father loves the Midgardian sheep, the humans, more than you angels, his first born creations. It must torment you terribly. Certainly, it drove your brother mad. In Asgard, we delighted in his tantrum, we laughed when he fell.”

“Oh and you have such good relations with your own brothers, Loki, milk brother of Thor and Baldr, but truly a child of Frost Giants, as I’ve heard it. A murderer of kin. A monster!”

“What would you have of me, little winged one?” the capricious god has Gabriel pinned stomach down in the dirt, a leather clad knee digging roughly into the small of his vessel’s back. Long fingers tangle in the feathers of his upper wings, pulling, twisting, severe and the archangel lets out a whimper. 

He begins to believe this has been folly. The gods of the Vikings are still too strong, the true faith of his Father not yet taken hold in the heathen lands. The archangel knew he played with a double edged blade. He was wagering on the strength of this idolatrous being’s power, the faith of his worshippers, those who spilt the blood of innocents and wicked alike, who copulated in sacrifice to the all-father, Odin, and his ilk. The earth drank even of the blood of kings in the hope of the warrior god’s favor. Gabriel could only pray angelic grace would not mingle there with it, knowing his benedictions fell on deaf ears, for his Father had gone from Heaven when Lucifer fell and the heavenly Host rent asunder. He was the might of God and no longer heard his Father’s voice. Desperation had brought him to the pagans.

“I seek to mask my presence from my brethren,” he grunts out, cheek crushed to the floor, forcing himself not to raise hands to the one whose help he desires, “I wish to hide from the eyes of Heaven and Hell alike. I ask you to lend me your power, for a time, and I will owe you a great debt.”

The knee jabbing into his back lets up and Gabriel breaths a small sigh of relief, but it cuts off, a gasping shock, as Loki presses himself along the length of the smaller angel, lines of his lean body snug against Gabriel’s. 

The archangel scrabbles at the dirt, nails gouging rivets in the earth, as he arches and bucks, wings beating frantically, but Loki has him pinned well, and a moment later there is a cold blade against his throat and the trickster’s voice is a growl in his ear.

“Little angel, what could you possibly offer me in return? You have nothing I desire, though your death would be a small amusement.”


	2. Chapter Two

Gabriel has had enough. He is only willing to take so much ridicule from this false god. He releases his vessel, exploding out of it in a burst of brilliant golden light. It throws Loki from him, a nearby table reduced to tinder, and gives him just enough time before the dark haired being is on him again, the wicked looking blade slicing into Gabriel’s grace before disappearing, wielder reappearing behind. The archangel realizes the weapon is enchanted in some manner, it burns and freezes when weapons of the mortals are but the nipping of bugs in comparison, and turns faster than a thought, ready to meet Loki’s advances.

In the next few minutes, the two find themselves surprisingly equally matched, neither able to gain the upper hand for long. The little cabin suffers for it and when it’s finished, they find themselves in the rubble of their destruction. Gabriel had had the foresight to extend the smallest of his power to lay the unconscious woman in a field of wild flowers many yards distant from the clash of their combat, she’ll wake later and find herself alone, full of longing and blurry ungraspable memories. 

The battle is ended, with Gabriel sheathed once more in his human flesh and sitting astride Loki’s hips, a gleaming angelic sword offering a deadly kiss at Loki’s pale stretch of throat. The pagan in turn hovers the tip of his own jeweled blade at the grace pulsing beneath the angel’s confiscated ribs. The assurance of mutual destruction stays them.   
“It would appear we’re at an impasse,” Loki’s velvety voice had a rasping edge to it as they both pant, lungs eager for air. Their bodies are battered, bright red mixing with deep purples and blues, the rags of what clothes they wore scattered, scraps clinging still in wounds.

“Your time is ending,” Gabriel tells him, voice soft but firm, the knowledge of the truth’s burden heavy in the quiet, “You know I speak the truth. We can help each other. Lend me your power, you can survive the fall of your faith hidden from the world and I will be hidden from my kin until Heaven’s prophecies come to pass.”

The lanky body beneath him twitches before settling, Loki’s gaze level and considering. The other’s weapon is suddenly gone, vanished as suddenly as it had appeared and the archangel slowly lowers his own weapon, letting it rest briefly on Loki’s shoulder before preforming his own vanishing trick, dismissing the sword with a thought. Gabriel is becoming aware of the heat gathering where he still sits on Loki’s bony hips, confusion warring with surprise, but he hides it for the moment, more keen on the trickster’s reply than anything else.

“If you perish,” he pauses, licks his lips, continues, “when you perish, my powers return to me. Along with your own. When Ragnarok comes, I will rise again, and I will have need of such power. That is my deal. You will have your masquerade and I will have all of you.” He moves under Gabriel, squirming as if for a more comfortable positioning, and it brings a rush of previously unknown sensation to the archangel and a flush to his cheeks. The trickster looks innocent to this knowledge but he must know what he’s doing, it’s his business to know, likely this is purposeful.

“So be it,” Gabriel knows the price to be steep but he plans on surviving and at the moment he’s willing to take on this debt, “we’re agreed.” 

The offer of his palm is ignored, elegant hands of the creature beneath him coming to rest on his hips instead. Loki’s grin is wickedness epitomized and Gabriel’s brows rise, eyes questioning.

“We’re also going to do the exchange my way,” he enlightens the angel, rolling his hips gently, a wordless covenant, though Gabriel can’t help but think his tone is tinged with a certain kind of defeat, sorrow flowing just beneath the confidence, “The Asgardian way is far more gratifying.” 

Burnished gold eyes watch Loki and he thinks of honey and sweetness, of beginnings and endings, the budding spring and fierce summer of his people turning to autumn so quickly, though the brush of winter winds should not frighten one of his lineage so.

“Our stars are waning, a bright new sun rises, burning the splendor of the Aesir and the Vanir, leaving us cinders in it’s shadow,” the cunning green eyes betray nothing of the Trickster god’s feelings on the matter, his expression nearly serene.

Gabriel has not yet had great experience with liars, though his holy righteousness has already begun to fail him, but he is an archangel and not without significant power of his own, and he can read the truth beneath the guise, can feel the despair in the minute tremor of Loki’s hands on his flesh.

The messenger of God says nothing but leans into the forbidden touch, breath stuttering through his borrowed body. He has his own concerns and the pagan’s vexations are little to him.

The tongue Loki flicks across his own lips, taunting and promising at once, is not the silver of tales but red and lush and no matter the lies it’s spilled, Gabriel wants to taste it with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had to fudge timelines and stories a bit to attempt to make this at all coherent. At the end of the fic, I'll post up those things I had figured out in my head which I couldn't make apparent in the story itself :3


	3. Chapter 3

The archangel meets his own desire with bewilderment. The mechanics of the process he knows well enough, he’s been to earth numerous times, bringer of holy declarations or righteous judgement, and he’s seen how the humans, how his Father’s “children”, delight in rutting like beasts. Gabriel has even watched them with mild interest, wondering at the ecstasy on their faces that sometimes seemed to be desperation or rage or any number of human emotions the angel had no term for. Even if he’d gotten it into his head to lay with a mortal, as some of his brothers or sisters had, it was a grievous sin and could result in the horror of the nephilim.

Now, his Father is vanished and his Word unheard, brother broke faith with brother, and there is war in Heaven. With Michael and Lucifer sundered, the Host’s attention divided, there remained none with the authority to truly command Gabriel. Here, in this cover of mortal flesh made hallowed, there is blood rushing beneath his skin and trillions of nerve endings reacting to every slightest pressure, every tiny shift in the air, the brush of lips or touch of finger nails, translating these things into sensation and reactive emotion. He never grew tired of the pleasant surprises of wearing a human vessel, but this intimacy is a new level of fleshly realization. Even this experience, of laying with knowledge of a heathen idol, is made holy.  
“You’ve never known the pleasures of flesh,” Loki makes it a statement, not a question and his lips curl in a lascivious smirk, all wickedness and suggestion, utterly shameless. Lucifer could have learned a thing or two from this one and it thrills some part of Gabriel to know this is his, this moment, these actions, the headiness of disobedience tempered by the knowledge he is doing it to avoid betraying either of his brothers, both beloved of him equally. But he also is aware he’s delighting in the perverse nature in which he will accomplish his purpose.

“I think you’ll find I’m a quick study,” the angelic voice is nectar, purring as he leans down over the expanse of pale chest, noting the taintless skin, human in shape but so far from mortal. His own vessel is frozen in time, will never age nor tarnish so long as he holds it, but it was human once and retains the blemishes of years lived. Loki’s will never know decay, though it’s temporarily smeared with blood and bruises, and Gabriel spreads his hands reverently over the trickster’s ribs, feeling the strong bones beneath his palms, the warmth of blood and thump of a quickening heart.

“You’ll know I hardly boast when I say you’ll find no better tutor,” Loki declares, his grip tightening on Gabriel’s hips, black nails digging crescents, and the angel twists into the feeling, heat rubbing against the leather pants the other wears, unlaced and torn, yet somehow still on, the only vestment left to Loki. The archangel’s own garments were destroyed in his earlier exit from his vessel.

The leather gives in his hands, laces snapping, tearing the opening large when he pulls roughly, eager now and determined. Laying a hand against the bulge of Loki’s erection, he palms it, lightly, teasingly, feigning timidness perhaps, but he’s seen more than enough in his travels to know exactly what he’s doing and he’s fooling neither of them. Loki wriggles beneath him, smears of blood drying on his face, on his lips, green eyes bright with intent. Gabriel thinks of deep forests that swallow light and sound or clinging ivy, beautiful but choking life. He plunges forward, catching the dark haired god’s lips in a messy open mouthed kiss.

Loki makes a noise, something pleasurable between a hum and a moan, it vibrates against Gabriel’s lips and he thinks how Loki tastes surprisingly sweet. Knowing the god’s history and his true lineage, he was expecting bitter or cold, vinegar and ice on his tongue, but the trickster’s mouth is warmth, the taste of mead and lemon rinds. Gabriel’s teeth clash lightly against Loki’s, their tongues intertwining, while the pagan trails a hand through the angel’s hair, cupping his head and pulling them closer.

Soft lips move down, grazing over Gabriel’s jaw before pressing kisses to his throat, which quickly turn into bites of sharp teeth and the angel can feel the skin bruising as Loki sucks and nips. The archangel tilts his head to allow better access, letting his fingers stroke down Loki’s side, fingers dipping into the depressions between his ribs, thinking how fragile the other seems while knowing it’s not so, not in the least.

“So this is what heaven tastes like then,” the trickster’s voice trickles into Gabriel’s ear, breath hot and close. He turns to see a flash of red against Loki’s white teeth, his own blood vivid on the other’s tongue, “Delectable.”

“I truly doubt that’s what heaven tastes like,” Gabriel’s tone is throaty, amused, and he stretches himself along Loki, bodies flush and hot against each other. The holy messenger can sense the trickster’s power pressing against his own, immense power, sinuous and feral, his own answering, whispering against each other through the thin membrane of their flesh.

Loki hisses appreciatively when Gabriel mouths his earlobe before kissing along the sharp line of Loki’s jaw, finally nuzzling into the crook of his neck, catching the heathen god’s scent, loving the smell of warm flesh, of wild thyme and juniper, with the furtive hint of brisk winter’s day.

The Liesmith sits up suddenly, arms wrapping possessive and tight around Gabriel’s waist, settling the angel firmly into his lap in a way that brings the pulsing heat of their erections together. Gabriel groans, golden eyes glassy and dazed, and Loki rolls those bony hips shamelessly, letting out a wanton moan of his own and lavishing kisses along the archangel’s shoulders, hands weaving into the long feathers gathered where Gabriel’s wings meet his spine.

Then Loki’s mouth is moving down, kissing and sucking until he reaches pert nipples, and his tongue darts out flicking at one of the hard nubs, twirling around deftly while his lips lift in a smirk and his eyes roll up to catch Gabriel’s. Then his hand is dropping between them, grasping both of their cocks at once, expertly wrapping his long fingers and pulling in quick tugs. 

Gabriel arches into Loki’s mouth, his heated touch. The angel’s back bows, ribs straining against flesh, and he lets out a keening sound of desperation, three sets of wings flaring up and out, and Loki marvels at the way the sun catches the aurous feathers, liquid gold, ever-changing with the angel’s grace pulsing through them. The pagan god raises his head, nipping Gabriel’s lips and murmurs a promise against them.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll forget this lingering yearning for Heaven. I’m going to make you scream my name, Gabriel.” The angel’s eyes widen with surprise, he hadn’t realized Loki already knew of him.


End file.
